


Crawl Spaces

by GodIsZombie



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne-centric, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Damian Wayne, Hurt No Comfort, Isolation, Loneliness, Neglect, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodIsZombie/pseuds/GodIsZombie
Summary: Damian is alone and afraid in his father's house.  He's become a hidden person within the manor.  But he's able to find some small relief in hidden places.A little character study on Damian Wayne.  How he sees the world and his tenuous connection to a family he can't understand.  Set very early into Damian stay with the bat family.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 32
Kudos: 136





	1. Discovery

Damian was aware that he was...small. Smaller even than other people his age. It was one of the few negative byproducts of his training. He hated it for the most part. Being literally looked down on and underestimated. Or, worst of all, being treated like some sort of child. His height, or lack thereof, was usually a nuisance. But Damian could admit that it did have its occasional benefits. Namely, the secret tunnels.

It all started with his arrival at Wayne manor, and the room to which he had been assigned. It was large. The way most all of the rooms in Wayne manor were large. But oddly shaped owing to its placement within the manor. Damian's room was in the main residential wing along with his siblings and father. But unlike the rest of the family, he was isolated three floors above everyone else. It was an obvious hint that he wasn't… Well. It was an obvious hint from his father that he really should have picked up on much more immediately than he had. But it was best not to dwell.

His room was on the top most floor, set just below the awkward meeting of two different eaves in the manor's roof. It led to a strange layout with quickly varying ceiling heights and a narrow, arching hallway that connected the exit door and on suite bathroom to the main body of the room. Too many places to hide in the roof and the main exit a total blind spot from the bed. That combined with an uncomfortable lack of easily accessible windows (or any quickly usable secondary exits for that matter) and two more doors in the main body of the room, both tucked into dark, not easily observable corners (one leading to a large and under lit walk in closet, the other a small coat closet near the blind hallway) turned what was supposed to be his inner sanctum into an anxiety inducing nightmare.

His first four weeks in his father's house had been spent locked in this room. Neither allowed to leave nor interact with any other member of the household. No communication. No human contact. No means of distraction. If it hadn't been for the three meals a day silently delivered by the butler Pennyworth while father loomed threatening just outside of the doorway, Damian would have thought himself completely forgotten. 

A punishment for what he had tried to do to Drake. Although at the time, he hadn't known that. Father's house was strange that way. Rules were never established beforehand and punishments came swiftly and without explanation. It was up to Damian to learn every unspoken rule and divine on his own the meaning behind each punishment. It was challenging. But Damian couldn't dent that ultimately his constant missteps and repeated offenses were no one's fault but his. His siblings, afterall, understood what was expected of them.

A Full month of complete isolation, especially a month of isolation set in such a poorly defensible location, was severe. Even by his mother's standards. Damian would have preferred his grandfather's whip. But of course, he wasn't offered a choice. It wouldn't have been a proper punishment then. And, although he hadn't understood at the time, Damian had… deserved what he had been given. 

It was near the end of his first month that Damian had discovered his secret tunnels. 

It had started with a place to sleep. The bed was obviously impossible. It was too exposed with too many blind spots. The first night Damian had crawled under the heavy wooden frame to rest between the bottom of the mattress and the hard wooden floor. But it had felt nearly as insecure as laying atop it would have. It was still so exposed. So glaringly obvious. The entire night was filled with phantom, grasping arms, tickling his limbs each time he closed his eyes. Imagined enemies waiting to cut him to ribbons the second his guard was down. And the cold, angry eyes of his father peeking out from behind every shadow.

After that first hellish night Damian had reasoned that, if there wasn't anywhere in his new life safe enough to rest, the only logical response was to forego sleep entirely. That decision had lasted three days. Sleep deprivation wasn't something he was used to. The league didn't start that phase of training until the body was more developed. And the lack of sleep combined with the isolation had quickly left him… emotionally unstable. Within a day and a half he'd begun to scream and rage at the locked door. At father and Pennyworth when they'd come to deliver his meals. completely unable to calm himself. And to his eternal shame, Damian spent the majority of the second night curled into a dark corner crying like a pathetic child. Overwhelmed by an oppressive blanket of stupid, illogical fear and pointless loneliness. 

The whole thing had come to a head one the evening of the third day when Damian had begun to mildly hallucinate. Nothing debilitating exactly. Just shadows shifting in the corners of his vision. Still, it did nothing to ease his persistent paranoia. Then, during the delivery of his evening meal he'd been startled by one of the shadows. Damian moved too suddenly and in the direction of Pennyworth while the man's back had been turned to him. It looked like a clear threat. And father had reacted accordingly. Crossing the room in an instant, yanking Damian away from the butler, and slamming him into the opposite wall with a forearm wrapped securely around his throat. The room froze. And then, in a frigid voice his father spoke the first words Damian had heard in nearly a week. "I won't allow you to keep hurting and threatening my family. If you can't learn to control yourself, I won't hesitate to strap you to the bed from now on." Not a threat. A chilling statement of fact.

"I understand." Damian had choked out from around his father's grip. And he had. After another few seconds in the hold father released him and both men left without another word. Damian had deserved worse. In the league he wouldn't have been allowed a warning. At the time he'd even seen it as a kindness. Thought perhaps he was gaining his father's favor. It was a silly thing to think.

Clearly the no sleeping thing wasn't going to work. He'd have to find someplace in this room safe enough for at least a light rest. So Damian got creative. He started with the rafters. Curling himself around the narrow, decorative exposed beams in his ceiling for short, light dozes throughout the night. He could see much more of the room from this perspective, the location was unexpected, and the deep shadows kept him comfortably hidden away. It was better. But the risk of falling kept his sleep light. And maintaining position clinging to a 4 inch wide suspended beam of wood wasn't exactly comfortable. He was finally able to sleep, but it wasn't exactly restful. So he hesitantly moved on.

After a brief stint on the top shelf of the coat closet that ended when he'd rolled over one night and the thin wood below him had wheezed threateningly, and an even shorter attempt at the bathtub (thanks to an incessantly dripping leak), Damian eventually settled for the cabinet under the bathroom sink. It was perfect. Small enough that he could curl up in just the right way to touch every wall in his sleep. And beautifully hidden. The doors could even be tied closed from the inside making them difficult to open. And with a few stolen blankets it was even adequately warm and soft. It wasn't safe, not really. And it wasn't exactly what he needed. But after weeks of struggling it felt like nirvana.

It was a few days into those gloriously restful nights that Damian noticed the access panel. And the rest, as they say, was history.

It was a tiny metal door, sealed closed and camouflaged by several thick layers of paint. Tucked just behind the metal drain pipe. Barely there and hardly worth a second's notice. In any normal situation it would have gone completely ignored. Except, there really wasn't much to do in his room besides training. And Damian has always been more curious than was strictly healthy. So he investigated. Carefully picking layer after layer of thick, plastic paint away from the edges. And when it opened, instead of the dull electrical panel he'd been expecting, Damian found a deep, black hole and a chilling draft.

Climbing inside was a tight fit. Even for him. But eventually he managed. And once he was in, he'd found them, his tunnels. Damian's aware that it's a… childish thing to call them. But he's also aware that the tunnels are his secret, and no one can judge him for being fanciful when no one willr ever know. What they are in actuality is a series of interconnected crawl spaces inside the walls of the manor. Gaps between the inner and outer facades, small accesses areas, awkward and unusable spaces the architect chose to wall off. They were cold, dark, musty, cramped, and filled to bursting with all manner of vermin. And if the bathroom cabinet had been nirvana, then this was home. Damian felt like he could breathe for the first time since he'd come to America.

"Finally," Damian nearly cried, "finally." A place all his own. Somewhere small and protected, somewhere quiet, somewhere secret. Finally, finally, a place in this new life where none of the grown ups could ever get him. Finally a place to feel safe.


	2. Warm

After everything that had happened, the tunnels felt magical. Damian was quick to begin dragging anything he considered useful but not immediately missable between the walls. He needed to build his new base of operation as quickly and subtly as possible. It was a far more challenging endeavor than he thought it would have been. Scrambling to adequately supply himself with such a limited pool of resources. Constantly weighing and reweighing the pros and cons of what could afford to disappear, what might immediately be noticed, what he couldn't afford to be without in the tunnels. But, it wasn't entirely devoid of… fun. It was enjoyable to have a purpose again. After a lifetime of nearly unattainable goals laid out before him, one after the other, and endless days of strictly enforced order, his fathers punishment had left him feeling more adrift than he had originally realized. Damian hadn't noticed how lost he was until he'd been found again.

The rub came when it was time to consider bedding. It would be nearly impossible to smuggle any of it away without Pennyworth noticing. The man was exceptional in his dedication and immaculate in the fulfillment of his duties. It, it reminded him of Ravi. Damian could barely stand how uncomfortable that made him. But that was his fault too wasn't it? His own cruelties coming home to roost. And the heaviness in his chest and the aching behind his eyes each time he looked at Alfred Pennyworth and saw someone else, was probably the absolute least Damian could do. For what he'd done. For everything he failed to stop. But it was necessary. Mother had assured him that it was necessary. So it must have been. It had to be.

The linens though. Back to the linens. Pennyworth would notice them missing. It was childish to even consider attempting to take them. He couldn't imagine anyone in the home approving of his access to hidden spaces in the manor. And although Damian wasn't technically breaking the rules, he didn't leave his room (he just extended the boundaries somewhat), he doubted father would agree. Not to mention the obvious display of weakness. Scuttling between the walls in search of safety like some sort of rodent. Hardly behavior fit for a worthy heir. No, if father realized, the tunnels would likely be taken away and his punishment would… worsen. It was stupid to even consider it. 

Only, Damian hated the cold. And the tunnels were cold. Bitterly so. They lacked the insulation of the main house. And it was winter in Gotham. It was the sort of biting cool that settled into your bones and made a home in creaking joints. Logically it shouldn't have been a problem. Damian was used to the cold. He'd grown up on the border of Tibet for god's sake. It's just, well. It's just, he hated the cold. It felt too much like learning to kill sharks in the frigid ocean, scaling snowy mountain peaks with hobbled limbs, and bubbling green lakes that whispered terrifying things in hateful voices when you dared touch the water. The cold hurt. No. Not just hurt. The cold made Damian ache, in all the ways that tended to last. And the tunnels were supposed to be safe.

Ultimately he decided to risk it. It was stupid and childish. Unnecessary to a ridiculous degree. But his mother hadn't raised him to be a coward. And his grandfather had drilled into him the nobility of risk and an expectation to take. And besides, Pennyworth would notice not father. And Pennyworth reminded him of Ravi. Kindness was exceptionally rare and an expectation for kindness foolish. But Ravi had been kind. Even after. And Pennyworth reminded him of Ravi. So maybe… well. It didn't matter. The choice was made regardless.

Over the course of Damian's fourth week in the manor, the iron fist his father seemed to wield over his solitude loosened somewhat. He still wasn't allowed outside. But Pennyworth did begin to occasionally appear for other reasons besides just the delivery of meals. Little household chores that didn't seem to Damian to be wholly necessary. Like gathering laundry to be washed. Or dusting. It felt soothing and oppressive in equal measure. It was good to see another person more often. But it was also difficult to forget his father's earlier warnings. Damian, he did his best to stay out of the way and keep his hands clasped behind his back. 

And as a result of his good behavior, father had begun to offer up small displays of trust. Or so Damian assumed. In the last two days alone he had failed to loom outside the threshold of his room with more and more frequency. Allowing Pennyworth to come in and work unaccompanied more and more often. Although he wasn't sure, Damian took it as a good sign. It had to be some sort of show of favor right? Damian had been good afterall. Or, good as far as father was aware at least. God he hoped he wasn't about to ruin it.

A day after he had dared to sneak two blankets and a pillow into what was becoming Damian's nest within the tunnels, the moment of truth came. Pennyworth strolled in and declared it well past time for a changing of the linens. Damian immediately cast a nervous glance towards the doorway and just as quickly breathed a sigh of relief. No father. One hurdle out of the way at least. He nodded to his father's butler and slowly but steadily inched a comfortable distance away from the bed. Trying very hard to seem non-threatening. Pennyworth frowned down at him in a way that somehow felt sad instead of threatening. And after a long second began to efficiently pull the bedding off the mattress. Then he paused. Damian bit his lower lip and tried very hard not to close his eyes or flinch.

"Master Damian."

"Yes Pennyworth?" Damian answered. Voice steady, back straight, eyes locked onto the butler's rather than cast down.

The man hesitated, seeming to search the assassin's face for a second before continuing, tone carefully neutral. Carefully calm. "I fear I've been negligent in my duties. I seem to have forgotten several items of bedding while turning down the room. My apologies young sir."

Damian could hardly breathe. "I… it's quite alright Pennyworth. I do not mind."

"Nonsense. I will correct my mistake immediately. But I wonder…" Alfred glanced up to the bedroom door before turning back towards the boy. A look of determination hardening his features somewhat. "I wonder if you might help me? I'll have to gather more supplies from the linen closet just down the hall there. But I fear all those extra blankets may be quite heavy. And at my advanced age, well… Might you help me carry them back to your room?"

Damian was scared. He didn't know which answer was the right answer. And there was always a right answer when it came to adults. All the options felt... dangerous. There were too many traps in this conversation. And he was filled with too much want to decide with a clear head. "Father told me I wasn't to leave the room." He tried carefully. Walking the tightrope.

The man before him only smiled, "What your Father doesn't know won't hurt him." Another pause. "Or you lad. I promise you that."

"Please." His mouth blurted out before his brain could catch up.

"Excellent! Follow me then." Pennyworth declared. Again he was so carefully casual. Why did he do that? With that he turned on his heels and walked out of the still open door without any further fanfare.

And, decision apparently made, Damian arranged himself into a more confident stance, something befitting an heir, and followed without hesitation.

Outside was, exactly the same as inside. It was just the hallway. It wasn't as if he was outside outside. But, the air tasted a little different somehow. The wallpaper was a different color, the lighting a little different. And the view outside the huge arching windows… After a breath Damian realizes that, had he been alone, he might have cried. It was bliss. It was bliss. A few seconds later Pennyworth subtly cleared his throat. And when Damian looked up he found the butler a few too many steps ahead of him, looking back at him with an intentionally blank expression.

"This way young sir."

He quickly jogged forward to catch up with the man ahead of him. Acutely aware that any misstep would likely lead to some very severe punishments. They made their way to the closest in a strange sort of silence. Only three doors down from Damian's room. He ached for more. Just a little further at least. But Damian knew his place here. He stayed by Pennyworth's side as he was meant to. It didn't occur to him until an hour later that Alfred shouldn't have required help carrying a few blankets such a short distance.

Alfred quickly grabbed replacements for the missing items and plied them into Damian's waiting arms. But rather than immediately turning to make the quick trip back, he loitered at the closet door. "Master Damian, it is important to me that you know, what we are about to discuss will be a private matter." The two locked eyes over the fluffy stack of blankets in Damian arms. The boy was barely big enough to peak over the edge. "On my honor as the Wayne family butler, nothing you say will reach anyone else's ears." He said seriously. "Do you understand?"

Damian nodded hesitantly. The butler had offered him not just an olive branch today, he'd given him the entire tree. He had an obligation to respond in kind. "I do."

"Do you intend to run?"

"No!" He almost shouted, genuinely horrified.

But Alfred only raised his hand, gently shushing the boy. "I would not stop you. If, perhaps, you had a more, comfortable place to which you wanted to return." He tried carefully. "I would only ask that you do so safely. There would be… no reason to risk yourself. If that is what you wanted."

"No." Damian repeated, quieter this time, but with no less force. "No, I. Mother would not approve. I was ordered to stay and learn from my father. Running away, it would be a failure. A failure that would not be tolerated in the League." He looked up, desperate for the man to understand. He was being good. He, he couldn't afford to… Alfred couldn't think otherwise. "I won't dishonor father further, I swear it."

Pennyworth closed his eyes for a second, then slowly let out a long breath. Seeming to nod to himself. "Very well Master Damian. Now, I'm afraid I must apologize again. I've completely forgotten everything that was missing."

"Pennyworth?"

"Be grateful you are still in your youth lad. I fear this damnable old age has gotten the better of me again. Is there any other bedding you might require? Besides the things we've already gathered?"

"I… a few more pillows perhaps?" Damian tried. Alfred smiled down at him encouragingly. "And… maybe… a thick comforter?"

"Ah yes. How could I forget? Let's get back to it then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments! I'm not usually very quick with the updates, but I have been motivated.
> 
> I feel like my Damian is coming out more timid than comic Damian. But in my head he's on really unstable footing right now. And aggression has already been very harshly punished from his perspective. And aggressive was all he was ever taught to be with Ra's and Talia. So he's just, genuinly at a loss for what he's supposed to be right now. And yeah. That's my excuse. I imagined that the more confident he becomes in his current situation the more he'll act out.
> 
> In my head right now he's the Damian he had to be in front of his grandfather when Ra's would say stuff like "you continue to exist at my sufferance."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments give me life. Seriously you have boo idea how much I appriciate them.


End file.
